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Friday, August 18, 2017

Chapter 17: Platinum


After a long day in the market, they retired to a cabin adjacent to the market.  An older Devil was there, turning a whole chicken on a spit.  It was the first time she'd seen meat in Egregia, and her mouth watered.  

“Good to have you home son,” the Devil nodded at Alister.  “I am Luke,” he held out his hand to Tatiana.

“Tatiana,” she shook awkwardly with her left hand.

“Nice to meet you, Holiness,” Luke basted the chicken as he spoke, “We have prepared a guest house for you across from here.”  Luke raked the coals under the chicken, “Carl, why don't you show her the place and stoke the fire?”

Tatiana followed Carl out of the cabin.  The cabin he led her into seemed eerily familiar.  Resting her hand on a supporting post, a splinter poked her hand.  There were wear marks up and down the post as if something hard had rubbed against it repeatedly.  Tatiana turned to Carl, “You really expect me to sleep in the same room that I was held against my will?”

“The Devils only have one guest cabin,” Carl added a log to the fire.  

“I’m not sleeping here,” she scuffed her boot on the ground, kicking a broken link of chain.  It spun across the dirt floor, landing near Carl's foot.

“Would you be more comfortable with Mike and Smithy?” Carl’s eyes softened, “You wouldn’t have much space, but they would be glad to host you.”

Feeling guilty, Tatiana sucked in her bottom lip, “Can’t I just sleep with you?”  

Carl’s eyes widened.

“-all,” she hastened to add, “Sleep with you all.”

“Dad’s a little old fashioned,” Carl picked up the broken chain and stuck it in his pocket, “He doesn’t believe in the mixing of breeds.  Stay here for a moment.”  Carl ducked out the door, leaving Tatiana in front of the raging fire.

“What about the chicken?” she said to herself, “Can different breeds eat from the same chicken?”

The fire popped and Tatiana sat down in one of the chairs.  It was a cane-backed chair with a surprisingly soft cushion.  She mused over what it could be stuffed with; tree moss, chicken feathers, the fur of the Devils’ enemies.  Drifting into a light sleep, she imagined them shaving Tate’s corpse before returning it to Amber, their red eyes flashing with vengeance.

“Tati,” the voice was directly overhead.  

“No,” she swung her good arm striking someone or something, “Don’t shave me.”

“Don’t what?”

Tatiana opened her eyes.  Carl and Alister hovered over her, Carl’s brows pinched in worry.  “Sorry,” she straightened up in the chair, “Bad dream.”

“Alister will keep you company tonight,” Carl still looked concerned, “He won’t let anyone harm you.”

“Ummm . . .” Tatiana pulled her fingers through her hair, “Are we allowed to have . . . some chicken . . ?”

“Of course.  I’ll bring you some soon,” Carl exited the cabin, pausing just outside.  He called to her through the crack in the door, “Don’t forget to secure the latch.”

Alister sat in the chair next to her, pulling Tate’s fiddle out of his bag and placing it in her hand.  Before she could even close her fingers around it, Tatiana was inside her old room in her parents’ house.  The window was open, the light pink curtains blowing in the Spring breeze.  Tate, young and slim, squeezed into her window, his manner aloof.

“Tate?” Tatiana blinked at him, “Why are you climbing in my window?”

“I thought it was mine,” he off-handedly ran his hand through his pale hair.  He sat on her bed, eyeing her resentfully, “Why am I dead when you get to be alive?”

“I-” she shook her head hard, “You did that to yourself!  You drug me into that and . . . and . . I don’t appreciate it!”

“Riiiiiight,” he crossed his forearms, long and bony across his narrow chest, “Couldn’t be the fault of little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.”

She sat down next to him, smoothing out the unicorn-print comforter, “I did what you asked.  I got your fiddle and I found Amber.”

“I don’t know who that is,” his frown deepened, “but getting my fiddle back, that’s good, Bee.”  He gave her a sidelong glance, resting his hand on the bedspread, fingers splayed.

Tatiana put her hand over his, the words rising to her lips without thought.  “In the beginning,” she said softly, “there was song.”

  The jolt that surged through her was so strong, that she could feel her hair raise up all over her body.  The hum in her ears crescendoed to a loud buzz that rattled through her molars.  Everything was blank and everything was numb with pain.  

Tatiana gasped and threw the fiddle across the room.  It bounced end over end, landing somehow unharmed next to the foot of the bed.  She shivered violently, her right arm suddenly a mass of pain.  The quivering sensation seemed to come from her core, accompanied by a dizziness so severe that the room seemed to spin around her.  Making a move for the bed, she staggered.  The floor seemed alive under her feet, rippling where it should be flat, jogging where it should be still.  Alister grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her to the bed.  He lay next to her, pulling her tightly against him.  Unable to get her bearings, Tatiana clung to him.  The weight and warmth of his body was grounding and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.  

In her dream there was music and faceless beings composed of light.  One of them spoke to her in an pixelated voice, “You would give up your life to become energy?”

“Yes,” Tatiana nodded.

“You would merge with your patron,” the being dissolved into a shower of light.  

Tatiana was falling, air whipping past her, her stomach howling with fear.  She jerked awake before she could hit the ground, sitting up with a gasp.

“Shhh,” Alister rubbed her back gently.

The door to the cabin opened, and Carl entered, balancing two plates of chicken and rice.  “I brought some-” he broke off his sentence, his eyes wide.

In spite of realizing how it must look with the two of them in bed together, Tatiana was simply too overwhelmed to say anything.  Carl set the plates on a small table and left the room, the fire in his eyes dampened by disappointment and betrayal.

Still feeling off-balance, Tatiana ignored the plate and reached for her notepad.   With a shaking hand she wrote a note to Alister, “I tried to bless my patron.  Is something bad happening to me?”

“No,” he wrote back, “You would have to do it all the way.  You got scared and stopped, which is good.  Supposedly it's ascension, but I think it’s just self-destruction.”

“What does it mean to ‘merge’ with your patron?” she self-consciously placed quotes around the word “merge.”

“Who have you been talking to?” Alister looped his question mark with a flourish.  “It means you cease to exist.  Your being integrates with his and you become like an angel.”

Cease to exist.  Tatiana set the notepad aside and wrapped her arms around Alister.  “I want to always be me,” she mumbled into his shoulder.  

Alister rocked her in his arms.  He smelled vaguely like mint, and Tatiana relaxed against him.  Her stomach still ached and she started to wonder if she was simply hungry.

She sniffed, wiping her nose and eyes with the corner of her robe.  Cautiously she scooted to the edge of the bed.  When the room stayed where she expected it to be, she placed her feet on the floor and shuffled over to the food.

“Priests aren't supposed to eat meat,” Alister undid the top of his robe, sliding his arms out of the sleeves.  

Tatiana’s stomach growled in protest, “Are you kidding me?  No sex and no meat?  What else can't we do?  Drink?  Go on carnival rides?  Smile?”  Tatiana took a bite of rice.  It had been cooked in the juices from the chicken, but she planned to feign ignorance.  

Alister rose from the bed and knelt next to a bucket of water.  While Tatiana scarfed down the rice, he carefully washed his face, arms, and legs.  He yawned cavernously, and it occurred to Tatiana how tired he must be.  As she eyed him thoughtfully, he removed a small pouch from his robes and took out a comb.  Tatiana snorted.  “What's a bald guy like you doing with a nice comb like that?” she joked.  Alister sat still, his legs curled under him, the comb resting on his palm.  “You gotta be kidding me,” she said under her breath, “His Holy Relic is a comb?”  She giggled for a moment, then yawned.  Alister wasn't the only one who was tired.  She climbed into bed, ignoring the fiddle on the ground nearby.  She was too freaked out to touch it and too tired to care if it got stepped on.  Rolling onto her right side, she fell asleep without even trying.

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